


The Good News (And the Bad News)

by fayedartmouth



Category: CHAOS (TV 2011)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayedartmouth/pseuds/fayedartmouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A joint mission with MI-6 teaches Rick a few lessons about being a spy--and about Billy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This fic is for moogsthewriter , who is celebrating her birthday today :) I was quite happy to learn she was a fan of this show, and my muse churned this out on her behalf. She deserves this and so much more. I’m so grateful for the chance to know her better this past year. Also, much thanks to geminigrl11 for beta’ing this so quickly! Due to how quickly I wrote and edited this, there are likely still some silly typo-related errors for which I take total responsibility.
> 
> A/N 2: I just feel compelled to note that when it comes to writing CIA related plots, I’m really out of my depth. I base things on really rough notions of what I know about international security issues, and my understanding is basic to say the least. Writing about terrorists seems plausible, but I have to admit, I worry that I’m being too simplistic or somehow offensive. So forgive any inaccuracies or plain stupidities. I mean no offense and hope you can all suspend disbelief enough to enjoy it.

“The good news,” Michael says, handing out their files, “is that we’ve got a solid lead on a terrorist group known for taking foreign hostages in the Middle East.”

In his short time at the agency, Rick has learned to like good news. This may seem obvious since good news is usually good, but good news at the CIA usually involves disarming terrorists and saving innocent civilians, sometimes on a grand scale. Good news is why Rick spent so much time trying to join the CIA and why he comes back day after day, despite the insanity of his current post.

Casey barely gives his file a look, while Billy scans his with genuine interest. This seems about right to Rick. Casey has an inherent sense of missions; Rick half thinks that they’re all the same to Casey, as long as they involve guns, fighting and secrecy. Billy approaches his with a boyish enthusiasm that somehow manages to be professional and endearing all at once.

Rick’s worked hard to measure his own response to such things, and it’s hard to tell how he’s faring since Michael always transfixes him with the same critical look no matter what the case may be. 

Rick peruses the file curiously, consciously trying not to look too eager, but mostly failing. Missions are still a surreal kind of excitement for him. Every one still intrigues him, and he’d be a liar if he said that he doesn’t get butterflies in his stomach every time Michael brings them a new on. 

Fortunately, he’s a quick reader, and he’s already starting to fill in the blanks mentally. In his free time, he sometimes goes over the most relevant wanted criminals, refreshing his knowledge of their crimes and last known locations, just in case.

Funny; something in his training may actually be paying off. “Sayid Fayed,” he recites from memory. He looks up, steady into Michael’s gaze. “He’s been on the world’s most wanted list since 1999.”

“And he’s responsible for the deaths of over fifty civilians,” Billy adds, and Rick almost feels jealous that they all seem to know the details just as readily as he does.

Rick supposes that it’s really a good thing that his knowledge base isn’t too unusual. While he would like to prove himself to be an invaluable asset to his team, he is rather tired of being the butt of most of the jokes in their office. He already catches enough crap for bringing his mother’s leftovers for lunch each day; to be a know-it-all would probably just make him stick out even more.

“Not to mention the countless others we haven’t traced back to him,” Michael continues, eyes moving away from Rick to take in the rest of the team. “Our intel is enough to get us into his compound and take out the command structure.”

No matter how hard Rick tries to just listen, his mind is already working. It’s a problem he has that no one else on the team seems to share: he wants to know the hows and the whys and all the other details that the rest of his team either take for granted or inexplicably know. “How do we know that Fayed is going to be there?” he asks.

Michael inclines his head with a look that almost suggests approval. “Good question,” he says. “We’ve obtained reliable information that he’s scheduled to see the exchange of a high profile captive.”

“And I take it that we’ll be heading up the other end of said negotiation,” Billy says.

Michael nods. “With access to his compound, we should be able to take it out,” he says. 

“How do we control for human casualties?” Casey interjects.

“The key will be to take out the command structure quickly,” Michael explains. “If we are in negotiation with the upper command, that means that the less trained personnel will be guarding the captives. If we can take out Fayed without triggering a security response...”

“The rest should come crumbling down,” Billy continues.

“And we walk out with the hostages and leave the mess for the military to clean up,” Casey concludes.

As far as plans go, Rick has to admit that one sounds pretty good. But there’s still one lingering issue. “So if that’s the good news,” he says. “What’s the bad news?”

Michael hesitates.

Casey closes his file, face drawn in disgust. “We’re not working this one alone.”

Rick blinks, looking from Casey to Michael.

Michael shrugs. “The intel came from an American operative but was reported to a British outpost,” he says. “Rather than have a pissing match about who gets what, we’re playing nice with our allies.”

Billy wets his lips, brow furrowed. “MI-6 then?”

Michael sighs, lifting one shoulder, almost apologetic but completely resigned. “Long live the Queen.”

-o-

Rick makes a mid-morning run to the soda machine and runs into Billy making his morning bathroom pit stop.

“Some mission, huh?” Rick asks with a grin.

Billy blinks at him. “What?”

“I mean, taking down a terrorist cell,” Rick reminds him. He leans forward. “Afghanistan.”

Billy frowns a little. “I suppose that is a bit more climactic than usual.”

“A bit more climactic?” Rick asks with a scoff. “We’re even working with the Brits!”

Billy’s mouth turns into a sardonic smile. “A rare privilege, let me assure you,” Billy says.

“Well, I’m just looking forward to it,” Rick replies. 

Billy pats his shoulder. “That makes one of us, lad,” he says, a little grimly, but before Rick can question him, Billy’s already ducked into the bathroom.

-o-

Back in the office, Rick asks, “Is something going on with Billy?”

Casey doesn’t look up from his work. “There’s always something going on with Billy.”

“I mean with the mission,” Rick says.

Casey looks up at him with a plain stare. “It’s a mission with the Brits.” he says. “Everything’s wrong with it.”

“What do you have against the British?” Rick asks. “They are our closest allies.”

“Who still resent us for a little thing called the Revolutionary War and they still pay homage to a pointless figure head,” Casey retorts. “It’s an inherent weakness they have never overcome and they can never be trusted for.”’

Rick has no response to that. Because, how can anyone have a response to that?

Michael finally looks up. “Maybe we should all get back to work.”

Questions aside, Rick thinks that’s probably a very good idea.

-o-

Rick doesn’t have strong feelings for or against interagency collaboration. Of course, even in his short tenure at the CIA, he is aware that different agencies have different functions and very different policies. While they are all inherently on the same team, the same petty back and forth Rick recognized in junior high cliques is still an ever-prevalent factor when it comes to cross-jurisdictional lines.

Such feelings of controlled animosity seemed to be only amplified when it comes to foreign agencies.

Michael is more uptight about the mission than usual, with extra briefings and the most thorough background prep that Rick’s undergone yet. It seems funny that Michael might want to make a good impression, but knowing Michael, it’s probably just a complete inability to trust anything that MI-6 might have to offer, so he’s trying to cover his bases more than usual.

Casey is positively morose about it. While Rick is reluctant to call say his colleague is pouting, there’s really not a much better word for it. True, Casey is never much into light conversation, but even his pre-mission chitchat and arming sessions are taciturn and abrupt. He seems to scoff every time they go over the mission details and rolls his eyes when someone dares to mention MI-6.

These responses are not so hard to believe for Rick. After all, they are merely extensions of the eccentricities that he’s seen all along. Michael gets more paranoid; Casey gets more sullen and to the point. In the grand scheme of things, those reactions are probably to be expected.

However, while Michael and Casey make frustrating sense, Billy stops making any kind of sense. This is the hardest part for Rick because in everything, Billy’s always been the easiest one to talk to. Yes, Rick learned a long time ago to not believe half of what Billy says, but little white lies (or whopping black ones) aside, it’s nice to have someone to make friendly chitchat with. Especially since Billy seems immensely interested in Rick’s extended family and will listen to any story Rick tells with a smile his face and what passes for genuine enthusiasm.

The friendliness is practically gone, though. He doesn’t seem to be listening most of the time to anything--not Michael’s briefings, not Casey’s reminders, not even Rick’s stories about his mother’s homemade pie. On top of that, the Scotsman is almost jittery. While his normally energetic ways tend to keep him in constant motion, in the prep for the mission, Billy literally can’t sit still. Tapping his foot, jiggling his knee, chewing his pen cap: Billy’s a ball of nervous energy.

“Make sure you have extra rounds on you at all times,” Michael says.

This would seem like normal conversation except for that they’re in the cafeteria having lunch.

Rick swallows a bite of his sandwich and nods as earnestly as he can. He’s learned in his short tenure on Michael’s team that sometimes a simple nod can save him a headache.

“I’d always have two,” Casey grumbles. “Damn Brits think that every mission is about style, not substance. They’re likely to send in a team with only half the necessary ammo and a nice assortment of bulletproof vests to choose from.”

The comment is mostly innocuous, but in the days since Michael introduced them to this mission, Rick has heard nothing but disparaging remarks. “They can’t be that bad, can they?” he asks. 

Casey rolls his eyes; Michael is impassive.

Rick feels like flailing a little bit. He motions to Billy, who is seated next to him. “They trained Billy, didn’t they?”

At that, everyone goes still.

Billy perks his head up, and Rick gets the distinct sense that he’s said something he shouldn’t have.

Fortunately, Billy laughs, clapping Rick on the shoulder with a lackluster attempt at camaraderie. “Aye,” he says, pushing to his feet. “Don’t worry about it. Casey’s just jealous of their inherent style, but all things considered, the extra ammo may not be such a bad idea.”

Rick stares at Billy as he walks away. When he turns back to his other teammates, Casey nods. “See,” he says, not trying to hide his smugness. “I told you.”

-o-

The rest of the day isn’t much better. Billy alternates between bouncing like a school boy in need of Ritalin and hiding out like a well practiced recluse.

And if Michael tries to make him count the ammo again, Rick may just lose it. He’s accepted that the idea of normal in the ODS is inherently and frustratingly illogical, but his team is acting even less like rational human beings than Rick has come to expect. He’s built up his tolerance--he really has--but Rick is ready to have this mission over so they can get back to their typical strain of insanity.

Besides, it would all be much easier to accept if he had any inclination as to why. He’s taken his time to study his colleagues. Michael is naturally difficult and distrustful, and Casey is always inclined to find something to be grumpy about. But Billy’s got him confounded, even more so because no one else seems to notice anything out of the ordinary.

Or at least, no one seems ready to talk about it.

On the way out of the office, he falls in step with Casey.

“So, big day tomorrow,” Rick says, as casually as he can.

“You mean when we willingly put our lives on the line with a foreign agency that is only moderately cooperative?” he asks.

Rick’s mouth closes and he nods for a moment. After a few more paces, he says, “So, is it just me or is Billy acting weird?”

“I thought we had this conversation,” Casey replies abruptly.

“You never really answered the question,” Rick points out. 

“Maybe I thought the question was stupid.”

“The question isn’t stupid.”

“It’s irrelevant,” Casey returns.

“Billy’s our teammate.”

“Billy’s an operative.”

“So the fact that he’s acting weird is totally not a concern,” Rick says, letting his incredulity do the rest.

“Collins always acts weird,” Casey replies without slowing. “Being that friendly is unnatural and almost disturbing.”

This isn’t exactly what Rick was thinking. He shakes his head. “No, I mean, with this whole MI-6 thing,” he says.

Out of seeming reflex, Casey scoffs. 

“Well, I was just wondering if you knew why,” Rick continues, trying not to sound too curious.

At this, Casey looks at him.

“It might be relevant,” Rick protests.

“It’s not,” Casey tells him flatly.

“But if there’s an issue with the team--”

“We’re going after a well developed terrorist cell with an operative we neither know nor can necessarily trust,” Casey interject. “There’s a lot of issues.”

“I mean, personal--”

Casey shakes his head. “Collins is a smart ass and far too prone to making friends, but he’ll be fine.”

Rick draws his lips together and frowns. “He doesn’t seem fine.”

“Considering we’re working with the agency that promptly threw him out on his ass and made it so he could never visit his family or home again, I really think he’s doing just fine,” Casey says.

This makes sense, and on some level, Rick knew it. Billy has always seemed proud of his involvement with MI-6, and he’s never denied that he got himself deported. But for the first time, Rick considers the ramifications of that.

“But what happened?” Rick says.

Casey glances at him. “That’s Collins’ business,” he says curtly. “Just worry about your ammo and please, don’t miss your flight.”

Before Rick can reply, Casey peels out in the other direction, leaving Rick staring after him, mouth hanging open in the hallway.

-o-

Given the odd dynamic of the team with this mission, Rick figures it’s a good thing that they’re leaving so soon. On the plane to Paris, he ends up crammed between a sweaty businessman and young woman smacking gum. Halfway over the Atlantic, he’s about to go crazy.

Coming back from the bathroom, he finds Billy reclined in the front seat of the section, long legs stretching out in front of him and a buxom brunette curled sleeping next to the window. The aisle seat is vacant.

“How did you get this seat?” Rick says, his tone accusatory.

Billy shrugs. “Mina, the sweet girl that she is,” he says, nodding to the sleeping girl, “had something of a spat with her boyfriend. I generously offered to give them the time they needed to cool off by switching seats.”

Somehow, given Mina’s appearance and Billy’s natural swagger, Rick is somewhat skeptical about the hope for the relationship.

“And what about this seat?” Rick hisses, pointing to the aisle seat.

Billy looks at it, as if he’s almost surprised that it’s there. “Mina’s twin sister must have slipped into the bathroom for a bit.”

Rick has to roll his eyes.

“So I take it your seating is less than ideal?” Billy asks.

Rick glances back at his seat. The man is sleeping, slumped over into Rick’s seat. He sighs.

“Then, sit, sit,” Billy says, gesturing to the empty seat. “I believe Mina’s twin may have snuck off with the male flight attendant, so I have the sense that this seat may be available for awhile.”

That notion is actually somewhat disturbing, but Rick is too grateful for a reprieve to question it. Instead, he settles into the seat, shaking his head. “They can’t even bump us up to business class,” he mutters.

“Well, it could be worse,” Billy says easily.

“How?” Rick asks. “How could it be worse?”

Billy glances back and Rick follows his view. He’s almost forgotten about Casey and Michael, who somehow managed seats together, but in the middle of the center row. With an elderly couple on one side and a mother with a fussy toddler on the other, it’s clear that neither of them are going anywhere for the entire trans-Atlantic flight.

When Rick turns back around, he feels vaguely comforted. This comfort makes him smile, and he leans closer to Billy. “Casey’s really not happy about this mission,” he confides.

Billy shrugs, nonchalant. “Don’t let his prickly exterior fool you,” he advises. “He hasn’t had the chance to pack this many guns in nearly two years. I swear, he’s as a giddy as a school girl.”

Rick has to laugh at that. He lets his head loll back on the seat. “This mission just seems to have everyone all turned around,” he says. He rolls his head back toward Billy. “Did you know that Michael actually gave me the whole file? Nothing omitted or anything.”

Skeptical, Billy tilts his head. “Ah, don’t despair,” he says. “I’m sure there are a few relevant details that Michael has kept off the official record just to spring on you to keep things interesting.”

Rick scoffs, but doesn’t disagree. “And then there’s you,” he continues. “I mean, you’ve actually been quiet. What’s going on with that?”

Billy doesn’t flinch, but something clenches momentarily in his expression. It’s gone before Rick can even get a good sense of it, plastered over with a benign smile. “Just offering a little variety,” he says. “After all, how would Casey and Michael feel if I didn’t join them in their pouting?”

Rick is thinking of something to say and failing to come up with anything.

Billy adjusts in his seat and settles back a bit. “Now if you don’t mind, I might try to get a wink of sleep before we land,” he says, his eyes closing. He peeks at Rick for another second. “You might want to do the same before Mina’s lovely twin completes her daring deed.”

With that, Billy seems to nod off into sleep, leaving Rick alone in his seat, wondering if any of this will ever, possibly make sense.

-o-

By the time they land in Kabul, Rick is not only convinced that commercial airlines are trying to torture passengers, but that his team is actually crazier than ever. Between Billy’s silence and Casey’s nonstop grumbling, Rick actually finds Michael’s constant vigilance refreshing.

Still, there’s a mission to do and it starts with securing a car to get them out of the airport and into the city. It’s a simple part of the mission, but even simple things are complicated, and Rick worries slightly that they may not make it past the airport before getting shot to hell.

Michael’s got the documentation in order and Billy’s being as charming as he can while he waves money in the air, and when Rick steps in with his fluent Arabic, they manage to secure a deal.

Still, the entire thing makes him uneasy, even when the man agrees to get them the keys. Rick listens to the men talking in the background, catching snippets of profanity and threats.

“They’re really not impressed with us,” Rick says with a wince.

Billy shrugs. “You get sort of used to it,” he says.

Casey nods. “If it bothers you, you could always try to eat a scorpion,” he suggest. He looked at Rick dryly. 

Rick gives him a look.

“What?” Casey asks. “It worked so well last time.”

“We did name you mission MVP, I believe,” Billy adds.

“And then you drugged me!” Rick hisses.

Casey shrugs. “Details.”

Billy pats his shoulder. “Don’t let the aftermath hamper the value of the moment.”

And Rick makes a mental note not to accept drinks for his team ever again.

-o-

They set up base in a safe house, which is nothing more than a small apartment just outside the city’s center. Casey spends his time laying out their ammo while Billy fusses over his culturally appropriate garb. Michael stands at the window, just out of the way, but with a full eye on the street.

“Anything?” Rick asks, standing next to him.

Michael doesn’t look at him. “We’re in the heart of the radical Islamic movement,” he replies. 

“Right,” Rick says, and he thinks that the idea of being ID’d by terrorist cells should bother him more than his team’s stunted behavior. Oddly, it doesn’t. “So do you know the operative we’re supposed to be working with?”

Michael shrugs minutely. “I’ve seen his file.”

“But you’ve never met him?”

Michael looks at him briefly. “And why would that matter?”

“I thought maybe that was why everyone was all anxious about this one,” Rick says with a shrug of his own.

Michael’s gaze turns back to him, longer this time. “Do you know how to survive a long time in this business?”

Rick opens his mouth to speak.

Michael doesn’t let him. “You trust no one until you have to,” he says. “And even then, you only trust them as far as the situation requires. Good guys can be bought just as easily as bad guys, and until you spend every day with someone, it’s impossible to know for sure. Even then, it’s sort of a toss up.”

The monologue seems to have exhausted Michael’s conversational skills for the time being and he looks back out into the street.

From the floor, Casey looks up. “It also helps to have extra ammo,” he adds. “And extreme hand to hand combat training, just in case.”

Rick doesn’t disagree and when he looks to Billy for his inevitable addition to the Lessons to Teach the New Guy, he finds the Scottish operative still sitting at the ground, staring absently at the ceiling.

“Great,” Rick says. “No trust, lots of ammo. I’m feeling good about this mission now.”

-o-

It’s not an hour later when there’s a knock at the door. Everyone in the room tenses. Casey pulls a gun and cocks it, moving carefully to a point just beyond the door. Billy flanks the other side, just as wary, his own pistol pulled and ready.

At a loss, Rick draws his own weapon, falling in line on the far wall, eyes trained on the door as Michael approaches it cautiously.

The knock repeats, and Rick picks up the pattern. Three quick raps, followed by two slow ones.

At the door, Michael pauses. “Carry out?” he calls.

“Teriyaki chicken,” comes the reply, and even through the thin door, Rick can make out the lilt of an English accent.

With that, Michael’s hand closes around the handle. He turns the knob cautiously, waiting one beat before swinging it wide and meeting the person on the other side with his armed weapon.

If such an introduction might be rude, Rick notes quickly that the person on the other side also has his gun drawn, and he’s eyeing Michael about as closely as Michael is eyeing him.

“You blokes certainly fit the part,” the man says, cocking his head just for a moment, but not letting his guard down. “Michael Dorset, then, if your file is to be trusted.”

“Files are easy to forge,” Michael returns. 

“Well, then I suppose showing my ID won’t really help matters much, will it?” the man asks, a dry humor coloring his voice.

Rick’s arm begins to hurt a little from holding his aim so stiff and so steady. Casey seems frozen in place, eyes narrowed and finger on the trigger, and even Billy is completely serious now.

“It might help a little,” Michael concedes.

“Well, I can do you one better, mate,” the man offers. “I understand you’ve got a Billy Collins on your team. The old boy and I did a mission or two back in the day. He should be able to provide all the confirmation you need.”

This takes Rick by surprise, more so that it seems to take Michael by surprise, too. It’s only a moment’s hesitation, but it’s one of the first times Rick’s ever seen the ODS leader come close to having something happen that he really didn’t see coming.

Michael recovers quickly, though, and glances toward Billy. From his position behind the door, Billy is the only one who can’t see the British operative. As Billy moves around from his position, Rick realizes with sudden clarity that such positioning was not an accident.

Billy’s gun is still drawn, but it’s already pointed down when he steps into the doorway. His jaw works as he meets the gaze of the other operative, who drops his own gun and smiles widely. 

“Long time no see, eh, mate?” the operative asks.

Billy puts his gun away. “He’s the real thing,” he says, stepping back from the door slightly. His tone is tired and weary, his expression guarded. “Gents, you can say hello to Operative Malcolm Arlington of Military Intelligence, Section 6.”

-o-

Malcolm Arlington is everything Rick might expect from an MI-6 operative. Just like Casey suspected, he’s fully fashionable and smooth. His teased black hair is wavy, falling neatly over his tanned forehead. When he smiles, white teeth flash and somehow even in typical Arab garb, he seems suave and debonair. 

In short, he’s actually a lot like Billy, at least when Billy is acting like himself.

Although, there is something decidedly less genuine about Malcolm. While he and Billy have the same inherent swagger, Rick still can’t feel inclined to trust the new operative just yet.

Of course, the fact that Casey always seems to have a hand on his gun and Michael never takes his eyes off him probably doesn’t help put Rick’s mind at ease any.

It doesn’t take them long to go over the plan. The apartment is sparse, but there’s a table and makeshift chairs placed in the middle, where the relevant maps and documents are spread out. Michael is to the point, and Malcolm is affable in his acquiescence.

“Any questions?” Michael asks.

Malcolm smiles. “Seems like you all have a firm handle on things,” he says. “I’m just here for backup.”

“We don’t need back up,” Casey snorts.

Malcolm shrugs. “Just because you won one certain war doesn’t mean that you don’t have anything you can learn from your mature allies,” he says. He leans forward and winks just a bit. “Don’t forget, the Motherland has been training operatives long before your revolutionaries ever had the gleam for rebellion in their eyes.”

“And it did them so much good,” Casey mutters.

Malcolm seems amused, but doesn’t push his luck. Instead, he leans back in his chair. “So cocky,” he muses. His eyes settle on Billy. “I can see why you fit right in.”

Billy’s expression darkens. “It’s a solid plan,” he says, and it’s clear to Rick that he’s ignoring the insinuation.

It’s also clear to Rick that Billy is the only one trying to ignore it.

Casey is keenly curious, and Michael’s gaze turns to Malcolm to gauge his reaction.

Instinctively, Rick does the same. Malcolm is still smiling, broad and effusive, but there’s a glint of malice in his eyes. “Ah, but we both know how you feel about plans,” he says. 

When no one replies, Malcolm lifts his eyebrows. “So they don’t know?”

This piques Rick’s interest more than anything. For all that he looks forward to missions, he’s come to realize that real glimpses into his coworkers personal lives is a rare and unusual thing. After several months on the job, all he really knows about his teammates is that Michael is divorced, Casey has incomparable self-control, and Billy can bed any girl if given three days.

Beyond that, he’s yet to even figure out a birthday or home address for any of them, which wouldn’t bother him so much if they didn’t already know his entire life history, including an unfortunate incident with a monkey at the DC zoo when he was seven.

“It’s not relevant,” Billy snaps.

Malcolm raises his hands in a vestige of conciliation. “It is a God given right of spies to pick and choose their truth,” he says. “We have too much between us to violate such a sacred truth.”

Billy’s eyes narrow, but don’t leave Malcolm’s face.

Rick looks to Casey, who looks to Michael. Michael presses his lips together and leans forward with new purpose. “For now, all I need to know is that we’re on board with this plan,” he says.

Malcolm sighs a little, almost in exasperation. “You, myself, and Rick go in as the private hostage negotiation team. Casey and Billy take up position outside, coming up from the north to the back entrance, taking out the two guards in position there and wait for our signal. Once we have full access to Fayed and his top officials, we make our move and secure the room. From there, we make a joint assault from the inside and the outside, meeting up in the hostage room and disarming the guards by whatever means possible,” he recites, in almost perfect summation. “It’s a bit trivial, so I think I can handle it if you can.”

“Good, then,” Michael says, ignoring the obvious jibe. “Then I suggest we get some rest. We’ll be on rotation to watch throughout the night, just in case.”

Malcolm smiles. “And here I was hoping for some chitchat.”

Casey rolls his eyes as he pushes away. “Just stay away from our gear,” he says, before retreating to his pack lined against the wall.

Billy says nothing and follows him.

“Martinez, you want first shift?” Michael asks.

It’s at that point that Rick remembers that they really are on a mission after all. He tries to look serious. “Sure,” he says with a nod.

Michael gets to his feet. “Two hours, then wake Casey.”

“Will do,” he says as Michael moves back toward his own pack.

At the table, Malcolm fixes him with a steady look. “You’re new at this, aren’t you?”

Rick frowns and shakes his head. “I’m an experienced operative.”

Malcolm snorts. “I can’t tell if your blatant attempts to sell yourself are purely American or because you’re green behind the ears.”

This insults Rick on a variety of levels. “We are the ones who planned this mission,” he reminds their so-called British friend.

Malcolm tilts in his head in thorough amusement. “So you are a newbie then,” he says. 

“Martinez is fine,” Michael says blandly from the far way.

“Of course, of course,” Malcolm says with a fake air of apology. He leans forward. “I don’t suppose you mind if I stay up to keep you company, though.” He pauses and sits back with a shrug. “Just in case.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Rick retorts indignantly. He squares his shoulders as if to prove his point.

Malcolm’s chuckle is more than somewhat condescending. “I’ve learned from experience that you always have to watch the green ones,” he says, his glance darting toward Billy. He looks back at Rick, smug. “Because if they mean it or not, they’re the link most likely to break.”

Rick’s even more offended, even though he has the growing suspicion that Malcolm’s not really talking about him.

-o-

Spies are a peculiar lot. Yes, this is hardly news to Rick, but his team’s ability to invest wholly in a task is almost disturbingly easy. Whether it’s combat or training or recon, they are all on the game, just like that.

Apparently, the same can be said for sleeping.

With Rick on guard, Michael, Casey, and Billy drop off in quick succession, leaned up against their packs for pillows. Casey snores slightly, while Billy sleeps with his back to them. Michael appears to be almost lounging and even though his eyes are closed, Rick gets the sense that he’s still watching everything that’s happening.

Rick takes position at the window, keeping out of direct sight, but giving himself an ample view of the slowing action below. So far, he’s noticed some suspicious activity, but if he gets nervous about everyone carrying a gun in Afghanistan, then this is going to be a very long mission.

As it is, there doesn’t seem to be any immediate threats as far as Rick can ascertain. No one seems to be staked out and watching them, and most people seem more concerned with being noticed than noticing anything else unusual, which really does work in their favor.

True to his word, Malcolm stays up. He stations himself on the other side of the window but he seems to watch Rick as much as he watches the street.

“You work with quite the band of misfits,” he observes after awhile. “Hardly what I might expect from a highly trained and effective CIA team.”

“You haven’t seen us in action,” Rick tells him. “Casey’s a human weapon.”

Malcolm looks like he might want to laugh at that, but seems to reconsider it. Instead, he wets his lips and nods. “I’m sure,” he says. “And what of your fearless leader?”

“He can see every contingency before they become important,” Rick says honestly. “His mind never stops working.”

“And you’re the new guy, which just leaves Collins,” Malcolm continues, and even if his tone is casual, Rick senses the shift in his interest.

Rick does his best to give away nothing. “He’s good under pressure,” he says. “He can con anyone out of almost anything.”

Malcolm smirks. “The con artist,” he muses with a self-satisfied nod. “Yes, that seems rather right to me.”

Rick glares. “If you know him so well, then what do you think of him?” he says with a note of accusation. It seems like a good technique, to turn things back around on Malcolm, and Rick can’t deny a certain curiosity that’s been growing in him ever since this began. 

Malcolm actually looks surprised. “You’re asking my opinion?”

“You’re the one asking all the questions,” Rick fires back. “So you’re the one with an agenda here, and I’d just like to know what it is before this mission really starts.”

Malcolm pauses for a moment, nodding briefly. “That’s certainly fair,” he replies. “No one should be asked to risk their life when they can’t be sure of their backup.”

“And since you’re the odd man out, I think you should start talking,” Rick concludes.

Malcolm chortles. “How long have you been with this team?”

“Long enough,” Rick says shortly.

“They’re good in action, I’m sure,” Malcolm says. “I don’t mean to imply otherwise.”

“Then what do you mean to imply?”

Malcolm hesitates for a moment, then sits forward, meeting Rick’s gaze intently. “I mean to imply that a few missions do not tell you everything you might need to know about another operative, especially under pressure.”

It’s actually nothing that Rick hasn’t thought about, especially since his team almost got him killed several times during his first few days on the team. But no matter their methods, he’s seen them together. He’s seen them in action. Trusting them is inevitable.

Malcolm shakes his head. “You’re young,” he says. “I know how it is. You have to trust your team because you don’t know who else to trust. But use some common sense.”

Rick blows out a breath. This is a runaround, and he doesn’t have the time for it. Or maybe he does have time for it, but he really isn’t sure he has the patience. He takes the weird crap that his own team throws at him, and the idea of enduring it from an outside source is low on his list of things he wants to do tonight. “Again, you’re the one with something to say here.”

“I just find it interesting,” Malcolm continues with fresh vigor. “That you all seem so quick to trust Collins after he’s proved himself a traitor to his home country.”

That’s the heart of this, Rick realizes, even if he hasn’t caught on until now. This makes sense, finally. Why Billy may not be happy about a mission with the British and why the British may have second thoughts about a mission with Billy. After all, getting deported is a severe penalty, and while Billy has called his actions a youthful indiscretion, it would have to border on treason to warrant a full on deportation to one of its trained operatives.

“That was years ago,” Rick says. “Billy’s been on this team for six years. Michael trusts him.”

“Don’t deceive yourself,” Malcolm says. “Michael doesn’t trust anyone.”

“To last on the team for six years?”

“Sometimes the best way to keep tabs on someone is to put them right in your sights,” Malcolm counters.

“Billy’s on our side,” he says finally, his exasperation wearing thin.

Malcolm is still looking at him steadily. “And that’s what I thought, too,” he says. “But it seems that he’s prone to switching allegiances at a moment’s notice.”

Rick is glaring now.

Malcolm shrugs innocently. “You just don’t want to learn the hard way, mate,” he says. “Trust me.”

Rick snorts a little and turns his attention back to the street. As if it is really that easy.

-o-

After Rick’s turn on duty, he tries to get some sleep. But Casey keeps playing with his gun in the night and Michael’s breathing never evens out and no matter how hard Rick tries, he can’t get Malcolm’s words out of his head.

Because there are things Rick knows and there are things he actually knows. There’s a difference between what his gut tells him and what his mind can verify. All things considered, his team doesn’t actually have the best track record when it comes to his involvement. What with blackmailing and putting his life on the line without even having the decency to explain the plan to him first.

Yes, they gave him the pictures. Yes, they have started to at least give him access to the actual files and not just their half-assed interpretations of them. Yes, they’ve even had some bonding moments, the sharing of first loves and such things like that. But what does Rick really know about them except that their crazy tactics get results and also make the CIA brass want them fired?

There’s a fine line with crazy. Sometimes it allows people achieve the impossible. But when pushed the wrong way, crazy becomes dangerous, and Rick doesn’t know just how close his team can come to that or even if they’d stop before anything went that far.

Rick’s gut tells him one thing. He wants to trust these people. It’s natural, of course, from situations of peril and daily interactions. He likes them.

But Michael can barely trust his left hand in the presence of his right hand, Casey has the unnatural self-control to keep himself confined to a small space for fourteen hours, and Billy’s been deported from his home country.

All things considered, Rick can’t deny that it’s a little bit sketchy. There has to be a reason, after all, that Higgins wants to liquidate the ODS. There has to be a reason that they don’t make spies like these men anymore. There has to be...

But Rick can’t convince himself of that. Somewhere between three and four in the morning, he gives up on logic and tries to accept what Michael told him on their first mission. Trust in the agency can be earned, and his teammates have never let him down. At least not when it counted.

At least not without reason.

Of course, after Michael told him that, his team drugged him, threw him on a horse, and delivered him to terrorists.

When the day breaks, Rick lets himself open his eyes. Billy’s still asleep, and so is Malcolm. Michael is on watch and Casey is sitting at the table, peeling an apple. “Nice rest?”

Rick grimaces as he rolls into a sitting position. “The best,” he lies, and he’s not sure if he’s lucky or not when no one calls him on it.

-o-

In addition to planting infinite doubts in Rick’s head, Malcolm is also unfortunately unduly chipper. He wakes up with a smile on his face. “You ready for this today, gents?” he asks, cracking his neck for good measure.

Casey stuffs another gun in his pants. Billy grunts.

“Just keep it according to plan,” Michael says.

Rick nods.

Malcolm grins. “I, for one, am always good with plans,” he says, giving Billy a purposeful look.

Billy pales slightly. 

“Are we all clear?” Michael says, looking at each one of them purposefully.

Billy mutters, “Aye.”

“Crystal,” Casey chimes in.

“I’m nothing if not a team player,” Malcolm assures them.

Michael’s eyes settle on Rick. “Martinez?”

Rick nods, forcing something that he hopes resembles a smile. “Completely.”

-o-

As they gear up to go, Rick finds himself next to Billy. He thinks about what Malcolm said; thinks about Billy dropping him off after his first day on the job. 

“So you know this guy? Malcolm?” Rick asks as he zips up his pack.

Billy is shouldering his, checking the guns tucked into his camouflaged gear. “Aye, that’s what I said,” he replies.

Rick hesitates, expecting more. Billy is usually effusive in his chitchat and this new, quiet version is still hard to get used to. “So, what do you think of him? I mean, is he a good guy?”

Billy doesn’t look at him as he continues checking his gear. “He’s a highly trained operative,” Billy reports, a little mechanically. 

“I know, but I mean, what about him,” Rick pushes.

Billy finally looks up, something strained in his expression. “You can trust him to get the job done according to plan, no matter what,” he says seriously. “I imagine you will find a great deal of comfort in that.”

With that, Billy moves toward the door. Really, Rick wants to find comfort in it, but the fact that Billy doesn’t is making it harder and harder to make sense of anything.

-o-

They split up when they leave the apartment. Billy and Casey have to approach the compound from the desert, staying out of the compound’s security radar. It’s a tricky job, Rick knows, and when he sees them leave, it occurs to him that he doesn’t know how they’ll do it. 

In truth, he’s never questioned it until now. He’s just trusted that Casey has the plain guts and that Billy has the simple charm to pull anything off. Between the two of them, Rick sort of suspects they could con a man in the desert to trade water for sand.

At least, Rick thinks they’re that good. Sitting in the front of the vehicle with Michael, though, the idea of trust seems a little more ridiculous than ever. Rick trusts a lot of things, from his teammates to the CIA to his mother’s moral judgments, and he doesn’t question these things.

Except he does.

Or he does now.

Rick never thought himself gullible, but his first day on the job had cured him of that delusion. He’s just gullible in some contexts. Rick wants to believe the system. He wants to believe agents of the system. He wants to believe Michael, Casey, and Billy.

But what he wants isn’t always the right thing and he almost got set up as a double agent to prove that to him.

When they stop off for a pit stop, Malcolm hops out and Michael sits at the steering wheel while the jeep idles.

Rick’s stomach is twisting and his jaw is tight. He has to ask the question. “Did you know about Billy’s history with Malcolm?”

Michael doesn’t look surprised; his gaze doesn’t even flicker from staring out the windshield. “No,” he says.

“Shouldn’t that have been in the file?” Rick asks.

“If it was important, Billy would have mentioned it,” Michael says.

Rick nods, considers that. He hesitates, then asks, “Doesn’t it seem weird to you?”

“We’re spies,” Michael returns. “Everything seems weird to me.”

“But why wouldn’t Billy tell us that he knew Malcolm?”

“Maybe it wasn’t relevant,” Michael suggests.

“But it seems relevant,” Rick says.

Michael finally looks at him, brow furrowed. “Why don’t you just ask the question you want to ask?”

Rick blinks, taken aback. Swallowing, he wets his lips. “It just seems like Malcolm knows a lot about Billy.”

“I’m sure he does,” Michael says, looking back out at the street. “I assume that Malcolm knows a lot about the incident that got Billy deported.”

Rick’s eyes lit up. “Yes, that’s it,” he says. “I mean, do you know why Billy got deported?”

Michael looks at him again, almost disappointed. “We all have secrets,” he says. “Most of them are as bad as they are good.”

“But what if the bad is really bad,” Rick prompts. “Shouldn’t we know the details?”

“And you think that one of Billy’s ex-coworkers is going to be the most unbiased source?”

Rick considers that, and feels duly chagrined. Still, the questions on the table, and now he really wants to know. “But unless we know what happened, how can we know it won’t happen again?”

Michael takes a breath, and it’s clear that this is something he’s thought about. “I don’t care about what’s printed in a file,” he says, shaking his head. He looks at Rick. “I care about what I see in the field. Billy’s proven himself to me, this team, and this country. I trust him, and that’s all I need to know.”

It’s a simple answer, and Rick envies his certainty. The questions of trust and knowledge have been haunting him since this mission began, and to think it could be so easily resolved.

Spies have to know, Rick supposes. Spies are just supposed to know. Rick’s not sure how, but he knows he can trust Michael. He can trust Casey and he can trust Billy.

He can trust them. To be insane, to be ridiculous, to have his back, to do what’s right.

Malcolm is coming back out, and Rick stops and considers one more thing. “So do you trust me?” he asks.

Michael looks at him, lifting his eyebrows. 

Rick’s indignant. “You do trust me, don’t you?” he asks, almost demanding now.

Michael shrugs. “We’re getting there.”

Before Rick can protest, Malcolm gets into the back seat. “We’re cleared to go,” he says. “Let’s get this party started.”

Michael quirks a shoulder up, a turns his gaze back out to the road and they’re moving again before Rick can think of anything else to say.

-o-

Things go according to plan.

This really doesn’t surprise Rick very much, not even when they’re invited into a private room and Sayid Fayed is standing in front of them with his gun strapped around his shoulders with a smile that is supposed to be friendly.

“We aren’t here to negotiate,” Michael explains simply. “We have the money, and now we want the hostage.”

Fayed looks a little amused. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple,” Michael says. “We’d like proof of life.”

“Show me the money.”

“Proof of life first,” Michael says, without hesitation.

Fayed nods to the guard in the room, who ducks out. Rick shifts from foot to foot, fingers sweating on his gun. Michael is relaxed, but Rick can sense that he’s ready. On the other side of him, Malcolm is almost vibrating with anticipation.

The door opens, and the guard comes back with another pair of men. Rick recognizes them from the files. They have the top three soldiers on the base in one single room. Three on four, the odds are as good as they can hope.

Rick waits for his cue, because he knows that acting too soon could be disaster for all of them, especially the hostages.

Michael is biding his time, and Rick watches as the militants shift their guns. For a moment, they’re all pointed down, and no one has to be told twice.

Malcolm moves first, at the guard, who may be the least important person in the room, but he’s the one who is most likely to get a shot off. Rick takes the second lieutenant, kicking the gun in his hand away before pulling him forward to knee him promptly in the face. Somehow, Michael has disarmed both Fayed and his first lieutenant, and the lieutenant is already out cold on the floor.

Fayed is looking for a fight, though, and Rick feels the pressure mount as he grapples with his own assailant. When he finally delivers the final blow, he’s upright and panting in time to see Michael land a kick that puts Fayed on his back.

Malcolm has out a pack of zip ties and is making short work of the men on the floor. He looks up with a grin. “All according to plan, eh?”

Rick’s about to smile, because it is according to plan, and Rick likes that, and the whole rush of adrenaline is going to his head, but before he can smile, he remembers something else about Michael’s plans.

They’re always good, only in that for as much as they go right, they go wrong, just like that.

Because as they’re standing there, a klaxon starts blaring.

Rick looks at Michael. Michael is looking at Malcolm.

“Bugger,” Malcolm mutters, picking up the guard’s walkie talkie and throwing it against the wall. “Open channel.”

Rick blinks and tries to process that. “But that means....”

“That everyone in this building knows we’re here,” Michael concluded grimly. “And that all of them will be gunning for us in less than thirty seconds.”


	2. Chapter 2

Turns out, Michael is wrong.

It doesn’t even take thirty seconds.

Within fifteen, there’s gunfire at the door, and it’s only thanks to Fayed obsessive need for personal safety that the bulletproof glass has held up at all.

They’ve got their hostages pulled to the back of the room, all disarmed and tied and unconscious. It’s a bargaining chip that might be worth something, but Rick really isn’t confident that it’ll be worth very much, not with an entire complex coming after them with bloody murder on their minds.

Malcolm has tipped a desk, and Michael pushed a cabinet in front of the door. Now they’re behind the desk, guns in hands, talking about their options.

“We can wait,” Malcolm suggests. “Casey and Billy are still part of this plan.”

“That glass isn’t going to hold up that long,” Rick says, ducking instinctively as the barrage of gunfire continues.

“He’s right,” Michael says. “We have to stick to the plan.”

Rick’s beyond incredulous. “But how is getting killed part of the plan?”

Michael looks at him like he should know better.

And Rick realizes, he should know better. “If one of us can get into the hall, start laying cover fire from behind--”

“They’ll think they’re being attacked from multiple sides,” Malcolm continues.

“And we can start to work our way through toward the hostages to meet up with Casey and Billy,” Michael says.

Rick goes over it in his head, thinking about the logistics of it. “It could work,” he says.

Malcolm laughs. “Bloody good plan,” he says.

Michael snorts. “Only if it works.”

-o-

It doesn’t sound like an easy plan, but the fact is that Rick has to crawl through a heating duct and trust that Michael and Malcolm will put down enough cover fire to make sure he can get out in another location without getting caught and/or killed.

Trust. Funny thing about this mission. It requires so much trust. If he couldn’t trust Michael, if he couldn’t trust Billy and Casey, then crawling through this duct would be suicide.

Even with trust, Rick can’t ignore the fact that it is still probably suicide, but the fact that he does trust them certainly helps with his doubt.

Of course, trust doesn’t help with the fact that the system is clogged with sand and he’s basically navigating blind, mostly going on the sound of gunfire to help him approximate the best place to make his move.

Fortunately, Rick’s too invested to turn back now.

And these ducts are small enough that he’s not entirely sure he could turn around if he wanted to, so, ultimately, he doesn’t really have much choice. He’s committed to this mission, and he’s committed to this team, and right now they’re trusting him to make the right distraction, and Rick’s not about to disappoint them now.

At least, not if he can help it.

When the gunfire is far enough away, he sidles up to an opening in the ceiling and tries to peer down. It’s hard to tell, but the room below him seems clear. 

Taking a deep breath, he pulls his gun, gripping it tight. With his other hand, he jimmies the vent covering free, saying one last prayer before he jumps down into the complex below.

-o-

It goes surprisingly fast. Finding himself alone in a corridor, Rick moves quickly and efficiently back toward the sound of gunfire. When he closes in, he takes position behind a corner, assessing the situation before charging it.

There are not as many men as he had anticipated. A handful of guards, all fully armed and firing at the room. Their singular focus is what Rick needs to work in his advantage. They’re mostly young, and probably scared, so selling himself as an entire troop of reinforcements may not be as hard as it probably should be.

The key is to divide their attention, take enough fire to give Michael and Malcolm an opening.

And of course, not getting himself killed or maimed in the process is highly important as well.

He thinks about what he’s learned. To have a plan, like Michael. To be damn good, like Casey. To know how to sell the entire act as truth, like Billy.

Rick checks his ammo, takes a breath, turns the corner and promptly opens fire.

-o-

It works.

Rick’s still not entirely sure how, but when the three of them are standing in the hallway with the downed guards, it’s fairly clear to Rick that somehow the foolhardy plan actually managed to pay out.

Malcolm’s grin is wide. “Nice execution,” he says, nodding to Rick.

“I can’t believe it worked,” Rick admits. This isn’t the first time he’s been in a firefight, but the sight of dead bodies still makes his stomach churn. More so when he realizes that one could have been him.

“Well, it’s not worked quite yet,” Michael says through gritted teeth. “We still have to meet up with Casey and Billy, free the hostages, and get out of here before their back up troops arrive.”

Suddenly, the victory doesn’t seem quite as good.

“Something of a downer, then, eh, mate?” Malcolm asks.

“Realistic expectations ensure proper preparation,” Michael replies.

“I always find that a little time reveling in the small things helps light the fire for going ahead,” Malcolm points out.

“Yeah, well, you also lost the war,” Michael deadpans back. “So we’ll go with my way.”

-o-

About halfway through the compound, they finally get Billy on the radio.

“Sorry, lads,” Billy says, breathing harsh into the radio. “We’ve been a bit busy.”

There’s a rapid report of gunfire on the line, another grunt, and Casey’s soft curse. 

“It’s totally under control,” Billy reports, and despite his panting, there’s a lightness in his voice that is entirely misplaced for the seriousness of the situation.

“Are you to the hostages yet?” Michael asks.

There’s another round of gunfire. The radio crackles and buzzes; there’s a thud.

Casey’s voice cuts through the din: “What did you do with the radio?”

“I rather thought firing my weapon would be more useful while the wave of terrorists came at us,” Billy counters.

“If I need the backup, I’ll let you know,” Casey says.

“My mistake,” Billy agrees.

There’s a muffled sound and the radio seems to be back up again. “All is well, lads,” he reports cheerfully, in a way that Rick hasn’t heard since before this mission began. “Just around the corner and Casey is very confident. How are you faring?”

They are pressed up against a wall, in the middle of an abandoned corridor. There are three felled guards at one end, and from what Rick remembers of the schematics, they’re about to cross the complex’s security center when they breach the corner.

“We might be a while yet,” Michael confesses.

“You want some backup?” Billy offers.

“Negative,” Michael says back. “For now, focus on securing the hostages and we’ll be in contact.”

“Copy that,” Billy says.

Michael puts down the radio and looks at Rick. 

Rick looks back. “You do know that after the alarm was sounded, the vast majority of the personnel retreated to this position.”

“And to the hostage room,” Michael agrees.

“So really,” Malcolm interjects. “We’re all facing an equal likelihood of death.”

“Basically,” Michael says with a ready nod.

Rick lets his head drop back and looks at the ceiling for a moment. Equal likelihood of death.

“It’s all part of the plan, though,” Michael says.

“Of course,” Malcolm agrees.

As if that’s something that’s suppose to make Rick feel better.

-o-

It actually doesn’t go as badly as Rick thinks it will.

The first row of defenders seems to fall back quickly, a few of them going down. 

But then the second row takes their stand, followed by the third. When a fourth opens fire from the other side of the hall, it’s all they can do to fall back and keep from getting blown away.

“Is this still part of the plan?” Rick yells over the barrage of gunfire.

Michael grimaces. “Mostly,” he says.

“Then, I hope you don’t think I’m being disrespectful,” Rick says, wincing slightly as the corner continues to chip away under the steady stream of bullets. “But I think this plan sort of sucks!”

Michael turns slightly, getting a few shots off before falling back next to Rick. “I think I might agree with you on that one!”

-o-

They have to fall back, finding cover in an office space, where they hunker down behind heavy metal desks. This gives them a bit more of a vantage point, but the fact is, they’re pinned down and it’s just a matter of time until they run out of ammo.

Michael doesn’t seem particularly worried, at least no more than usual. Malcolm is still laughing as he reloads. “You Americans sure put on quite a show,” he quips.

“If we’re going to go for it, we’re going to go for it,” Michael says between clenched teeth. Then he maneuvers, firing off a few more rounds.

When Michael comes down, Malcolm goes up. When he falls back, he grins at them. “So this is normal then?”

Rick takes his turn and feels the heat of bullets hitting the wall behind him. He falls back, heart pounding.

“Yeah, more or less,” Michael confirms.

Malcolm laughs again. “Brilliant!”

And Rick wonders why he’s the only one who thinks this is problematic.

-o-

It’s about over. They’re low on ammo and the reinforcements seem well fortified and Malcolm’s not laughing as much and Michael’s mouth is drawn in a tight line.

“We could surrender,” Michael offers.

“They’ll kill us before we even have a chance,” Malcolm counters.

“But they’re going to kill us anyway,” Rick says, and even though he knows it’s true, he’s having a hard time really getting his mind around it.

“A blaze of glory sounds about right, then,” Malcolm offers.

“There’s no glory in dying,” Michael grounds out. He turns to fire, then settles back. “They’ll either bury us in unmarked graves or display our corpses for everyone to see.”

Malcolm fires. “Still the pessimist,” he muses.

Rick takes his turn. “Maybe we can focus on finding a way to not die,” he suggests, a little harsher than he intends.

“By all means,” Michael says. “I’m open to suggestions.”

Only as Michael gets into position to fire again, Rick realizes he doesn’t have a clue.

-o-

Mentally, Rick is prepared to die.

Sure, he despairs about it for a moment, but he tells himself that this was always a risk he was willing to take. His mother tried to talk him out of this lifestyle, of course, but Rick would never be swayed. He wanted to be an American hero; he knows this is worth it.

That’s the easy part.

The hard part is the thought of actually dying.

Will it hurt? Will it be quick? What will happen to his body? What will happen to the mission? How much will they tell his mother? Will there be anything left of him to bury at all? 

There aren’t answers to these questions, but as the gunfire intensifies and the enemy nears, he sort of figures that it doesn’t matter much anyway. It’s a question of the right thing and doing his best, and Rick’s done all he can.

So he’s ready to die.

He takes a breath, and looks to Malcolm and Michael. Malcolm is still firing, alternating with Michael. Their banter has diminished; they know it’s just about time.

They’re all ready.

But it doesn’t happen.

There’s a fresh burst of gunfire and suddenly all hell breaks loose. For a moment, Rick thinks maybe it’s already over, but nothing hurts and he’s not bleeding, and he realizes that the gunfire is no longer directed at him.

It only takes him a moment to put all that together and by the time he repositions himself for the fight, Malcolm and Michael are already there. With a fresh view of the action, Rick realizes that someone is firing from the other side, picking off the enemy while their backs are turned.

With this, the guards have to scatter, looking for a new position. There’s a new disorder in their approach, with some focused on the new threat and others still firing back at them. The guards have the greater numbers, but the element of surprise is all they need.

Michael gets to his feet, taking cover behind a closer desk. Rick follows suit, fanning out to another position. With this diversified position, the tides are changing quickly.

And then, it’s over.

Not the way Rick expected of course, because in the debris, he’s still standing and Michael and Malcolm look no worse for wear. From the other end of the hallway, Billy is standing there with a grin on his face. “Thought you might need a little help,” he says.

Michael actually almost laughs as he grabs a fresh gun from one of the guards. He moves toward Billy, clapping him on the shoulder.

Following after him, Rick has the sudden urge to hug the other man but settles for a watery smile instead. “Good timing,” he says.

Billy grins back and nods. “Can’t have you dying before you really get the hang of things around here now, can I?”

Behind him, Malcolm is stiff. He lifts his head. “Playing the hero now, Collins?” he asks.

Billy’s expression sours. His jaw works. “Just doing what I think is best.”

“I’m sure that quite the comfort for you,” Malcolm mutters as he brushes past Rick and Billy, following Michael down the hall.

-o-

Rick would very much like to wallow in the fact that he’s alive, but he realizes quickly that they still have to salvage the mission. Moving through the compound is a tense sort of thing because they have no way of knowing how many guards are left or exactly where they are or what they’re trying to do.

“And the hostages?” Michael asks, glancing at Billy as they move quickly through the halls.

“We have the guards secured,” Billy says. “Casey had it under control when I left.”

“But what if reinforcements arrive there?” Malcolm asks. “The hostages will be one of the first things they want to take out.”

“Casey has it under control,” Billy says again, and there’s an edge in his voice now. “I wouldn’t have left if I weren’t confident in that.”

“And your judgment is infallible, then?” Malcolm accuses.

“We need to focus on the plan,” Michael says. “We’re not out of this yet.”

“That’s my point exactly,” Malcolm snaps as he moves ahead. He stops at a corner and turns back to look at them. “You’ve got loose canons on your team, Dorset, and it’s only a matter of time before it gets someone killed. You may be okay with such things, but I would really rather not die on some half-assed American excuse for a mission.”

It’s almost as if on cue, because Malcolm turns the corner and the gunfire starts again. Malcolm drops and fumbles to roll, but he’s still a sitting duck.

Michael is scrambling to catch up, and at the rear, Rick is still too far behind to make much difference. But Billy’s close, and he steps around the corner and kneels, laying down a line of cover fire that lets Malcolm roll back to safety.

Michael’s almost there as Billy starts to step back. It’s a short distance, and if they can just have two seconds to regroup, they can face this next threat. Rick thinks, that’s that.

But then Billy falls.

It happens fast--faster than Rick thinks it should. One minute he’s moving back, the next he’s just going down, and Rick doesn’t even have enough time to know exactly just what happened.

At first, Rick thinks maybe Billy has tripped. Maybe he’s going low to avoid the bullets. Maybe it’s some extra special MI-6 move that Rick’s simply not acquainted with at this point in his career.

But then Michael is grabbing at him, pulling him back. As Rick closes the final distance, he sees Billy’s chest heaving and a dark stain of blood on his tan colored shirt as he lies splayed across the floor.

-o-

It’s a testament to Rick’s training that he moves into position for a fresh line of cover fire, especially when all he can think about is Billy and the blood. But there’s still a job to be done, and Rick knows what he has to do if any of them are going to get out of here alive. Malcolm is going high and Rick sidles in to go low. When he gets a glance around the corner, he sees that it’s a small contingent--no more than three guards.

Malcolm takes a shot and one goes down. Rick narrows his focus, pretends he’s aiming at a target on a firing range and pulls the trigger. Once, twice. 

He sets the second one in his site and repeats.

Then it’s silent.

There’s blood on the far end of the hallway, and Rick thinks about the men he’s just shot. It’s part of the job, he knows, and he supposes he’s been lucky that he hasn’t had to do this before.

Lucky.

He feels vaguely nauseous as Malcolm moves forward to check the guards for sure. He pulls back, letting himself collapse against the wall.

His stomach turns again, almost violently now, because there’s blood here, too, all over Billy, coating Michael’s hands as he presses a hand over the wound that Rick can’t see.

Billy coughs, a guttural, gargling sound, and his body convulses a little bit.

And that’s all Rick can take before he turns back around the corner and empties his stomach.

-o-

When he’s done, Rick feels better. He glances down the hall, where Malcolm is securing this latest contingent of guards. Rick doesn’t quite understand how Malcolm makes it look so easy, but he understands the need to stay productive--especially now. Sweating and shaking, Rick rallies his strength, reminding himself that there’s nothing left to lose when he faces Michael and Billy again.

Michael has maneuvered around so that Billy’s propped up against the wall. He’s ripping a sheath of fabric from one of his shirts, balling it up and pressing it hard into Billy’s side.

Billy hisses with pain but doesn’t pull away. His face is pale, his breaths rapid and shallow. His legs move slightly, but there’s nowhere for him to go.

“Martinez,” Michael snaps. “You with me?”

Rick blinks and nods. Then he remembers how to speak. “Yeah.”

Michael doesn’t spare him a glance. Instead he holds out a stretch of fabric with is free hand. “Help me tie this around him,” he says.

Rick’s good at following orders, and this one is easier than most. But as he scoots forward on his knees, his confidence betrays him and he hesitates.

Billy’s eyes are on him, a dull smile on his face. “This is way easier than eating a scorpion, I should think,” he quips, and his voice is strained. “Just a nice knot. Boy Scout like you, should be easy.”

Rick can’t help but smile, if only because it’s clear how much effort Billy is making. Carefully, Rick threads the fabric behind Billy, trying not to jostle him too much. When he starts to tie both ends together over the compress Michael has made, Billy tenses slightly and Rick says, “Lucky for you, I made it all the way to Eagle Scout,” he says.

He pulls the knot until it’s snug, then pulls it a little more. Pressure is the only thing that will keep Billy alive long enough, and they all know it.

Still, Billy yelps a little. “Eagle Scout,” he cries, eyes blinking rapidly. “I take it that’s a good thing?”

“The best,” Rick assures him.

“It means that Rick spent all his time in high school tying knots and starting fires,” Michael joins in.

Billy frowns, shaking his head a little. “And not getting laid,” he bemoans, his voice wobbling slightly as Rick adjusts the knot and Michael takes his hands away.

“Yeah, well, in a situation like this, the ability to tie a good knot seems a little more important,” Rick concludes, satisfied that the bandage is as tight as it can be.

Billy hacks a dry cough. “But still not nearly as much fun.”

Rick tries to smile, but Billy shuts his eyes for a moment, sucking his harsh breaths as he works through what Rick can only imagine to be pain.

Michael meets his gaze, and even though the older operative doesn’t say anything, Rick can tell that this isn’t good.

There’s no time to dwell on that, though. Malcolm shows up around the corner, armed with more guns, face grim.

“We’re cleared for now, but I overheard a radio transmission,” he says. “There are more guards coming. It’s only a matter of time before this complex is overrun.”

Michael swallows and Rick watches him with wide eyes.

From the floor, Billy opens his eyes. “Then we better get a move on, eh?” he asks.

The set to Michael’s jaw tells Rick what he’s really thinking, but Michael doesn’t indulge it. Instead, he stands. “Martinez, help get Billy to his feet,” he barks. I’ll take point, and I want Malcolm at the rear. We move as fast as we can until we can rendezvous with Casey. Is that understood?”

Malcolm is already falling into position and it isn’t until Billy’s hand latches onto his arm that Rick remembers that he needs to move, too.

Billy’s face face taut with pain as he starts to lever himself to his feet. When he gets to a standing position, he’s leaned heavily against Rick, and he looks down with a smile. “I’ve got an Eagle Scout knot holding me together. I couldn’t need much more than that.”

Rick can only hope that’s true (and know that it’s really, really not).

-o-

It’s an awkward march. Michael keeps them at a good clip, and Billy’s straining heavily to maintain it. His legs keep moving, but Rick can feel more and more of Billy’s weight being transferred across his shoulders.

The extra weight makes it hard to move, and Rick’s sweating almost as much as Billy as they move along. 

Malcolm is a silence presence behind them, and whenever Rick catches a glimpse, the English operative is almost fuming, all traces of good humor gone.

Up ahead, Michael slows as he reaches another corner. They’ve learned to be cautious, and so far, they’ve actually been pretty lucky.

This time, not so much.

Michael tenses, then fires, falling back as return fire peppers the far wall.

Rick stops suddenly, and Billy’s feet don’t quite keep up. His feet tangle and he pitches forward. Rick is reeling to keep them upright, and it’s a hand from behind that keeps them from going down.

Ahead, Michael has turned again, firing of a few more rounds before calling back, “Clear!”

That’s good news, because Rick doesn’t think Billy would have it in him for another firefight. As it is, he’s not sure Billy has it in him to move at all, not that the taller operative seems ready to admit that just yet.

Where Rick is worried, Malcolm is seething. “You’re being difficult as usual, I see, Collins,” he mutters. He keeps himself close, as if he’s not sure Billy will fall again.

Rick’s not sure about that either, and he tightens his grip on Billy’s wrist.

Billy huffs a laugh. “Nice to see that you’ve worked on your humanitarianism in all these years,” he breathes.

“Humanitarianism is a luxury,” Malcolm spats. 

“I saved your life,” Billy reminds him.

“And now the whole plan is at risk,” Malcolm says.

Billy rolls his eyes. “It’s always about the plan with you.”

“And it seems to be a fleeting concern for you.”

“Plans change,” Billy says, his voice rougher now. He’s holding his head up to look at Malcolm and there’s a fire in his eyes that Rick doesn’t recognize. 

“But who are you to decide that?” Malcolm shoots back.

“So you would rather that I let you die?” Billy says, nodding a little. His head dips down toward Rick’s shoulder and Rick has to adjust his stance to keep them steady.

“There are priorities,” Malcolm challenges, insistent.

Billy shakes his head. “There’s more than a plan,” he says, words rushed. He breaks off with a cough, but swallows it back. “There’s doing the right thing--”

This time, the coughs are too much and Billy’s body is racked with them. Rick tries to brace him, but as Billy’s body curves, the greater weight is more than Rick can handle. It’s an awkward movement, and Rick refocuses his efforts from staying upright to making sure they don’t hit the ground with too much force.

As it is, Billy’s knees crumple, and Rick feels Billy’s grating breath hot against his shoulder as he tries to go to his knees without too much jarring.

He’s about to lose it, when there’s a hand on his shoulder.

Michael’s in front of them, balancing them both as he helps them to the floor. It’s a gentle landing, all things considered, but Billy’s still barely propped up, head lolled against Rick’s shoulder and his legs twisted in front of him in what looks like an uncomfortable position.

“No matter what the plan was,” Michael interjects, glancing with purpose and Malcolm, “it’s changing now.”

Malcolm looks what he wants to protest, but wisely doesn’t.

“As it is, we’re moving too slowly,” Michael continues, turning his eyes back to Rick. “Our primary objective has to be getting the hostages out of here. If we can make a quick getaway, we can get them to safety and procure military support, hopefully before reinforcements arrive. We’ll split up--”

At that, Billy lifts his head, urgency in his eyes. He shakes his head and seems to try to move. “I can go.”

They are bold words, but Billy’s body betrays him and he winces, sagging back against Rick.

“It’s better to keep a team here to ensure that the base is secured and give us intel in case reinforcements do arrive,” Michael explains.

Rick’s new to this job, and he’s fallen for some doozies in his short tenure, but even he can smell the BS involved in Michael’s plan. There’s little tactical advantage to leaving a team behind, but Michael knows that going together will simply take too long.

Billy looks up again. His eyes are wet and he shakes his head with new passion. “Then let me stay on my own,” he says.

“No, Malcolm will come with me so we can meet up with Casey,” Michael explains. “Martinez, you’ll stay with Billy--”

“Damn it, Michael,” Billy grounds out, and it’s not just physical pain straining him anymore. “I can do this.”

Michael doesn’t even hesitate. He shakes his head, adamant. “It’s not your call.”

There’s a tense moment. Billy’s entire body is shaking, but his eyes don’t waver. Rick swallows hard, eyes turning from Billy to Michael. Usually the team functions cohesively, with no visible discord. Now, Rick can sense the unspoken argument.

Billy doesn’t want someone to have to stay with him. He doesn’t want someone to risk their life for him.

But Michael can’t leave a man behind. He won’t let one of his own be left to the wolves.

It’s a stalemate.

Then Billy ducks his head, nodding in acceptance.

“Good,” Michael says, getting to his feet. He glances back toward Malcolm. “You ready to go?”

Malcolm shrugs coolly. “Been ready all along.”

Michael ignores the sarcasm, and instead looks back at Rick. “You good, Martinez?” he asks. 

Rick meets his eyes and is surprised by the sudden earnestness there. This is an actual question, not a rhetorical one. Michael is giving Rick all the opportunity he needs to back out, to let Michael take his place.

And it occurs to him suddenly that Michael’s first instinct wouldn’t be to leave Rick there at all. That’s not Michael’s style. He’s paranoid and he’s thorough, and he’s willing to blackmail the new guy in order to secure the safety of his entire team. Michael would stay with Billy in a heartbeat, assume the most dangerous post for himself, except for the fact that there’s more than Billy’s life on the line.

There’s the mission and the hostages, too, and the simple fact is that for as much as he wants to stay with their downed teammate, he doesn’t want to trust Malcolm to handle the rest. He needs to be in immediate command in order to make sure nothing else goes wrong, and with Billy shot, enough has certainly gone wrong already.

Rick looks at Billy, who is even paler than before. The sweat is glistening on his face while he labor against the pain. For the moment, his eyes are closed, tightly screwed shut to fend off what Rick can only assume is the worst of the sensation.

Billy’s blood is still seeping, even despite the bandage. It’s all over Billy’s front, smeared on Rick’s gear as well. There are smudges of it on his hands, and Rick knows this is going to get worse before it gets better.

Turning his eyes back to Michael, he understands. Michael isn’t asking him to secure the base. He’s asking him to try to save Billy’s life. 

Of course, the fact that both missions are probably lost causes isn’t lost on Rick, but it doesn’t matter. Not really. Because in all of this, Michael trusts him. Maybe Michael’s trusted him all along, and he certainly trusts him now--with the thing that matters most.

And that’s a responsibility Rick wouldn’t shirk, not for anything in this world.

He nods tightly. “I’m good,” he affirms. 

Michael nods his approval. “We’ll keep in radio contact as necessary,” he says. “Assume a defensive position and just wait for the cavalry.” He pauses, looks at Billy. “Both of you.”

With that, Michael turns to Malcolm, who lifts his chin as he follows their stealthy progress down the hall.

-o-

For a few moments, it’s quiet. The sound of footsteps dissipates, and Rick is left with his own pounding heart and the heavy sound of Billy’s breathing.

They’re still sprawled on the ground. Rick’s side is going numb from Billy’s weight, and he can’t imagine that the position is any more comfortable for Billy.

He shifts minutely, and Billy groans. He opens his eyes and squints up at Rick. “What part of the plan involves inflicting torture on your teammates?” he asks wryly.

Rick smiles back, apologetic. “I just thought you might be more comfortable this way,” he says as he continues to maneuver his body out from under Billy. 

Billy laughs hoarsely. “You know, if you had skipped a few Eagle Scout meetings,” he starts through gritted teeth. “You might have learned to appreciate the fine art of spooning.”

Rick snorts a laugh in return as he pulls Billy back, settling him against his pack, which is now shoved against the wall. “You’ll have to teach me that on the next mission,” he says.

Billy meets his gaze and understands the implication. He quirks his head. “I assure you, such a lesson should never be delayed, and I do have plenty of experience.”

Rick shakes his head, giving Billy a determined half smile. “I’ll take my chances.”

Billy’s eyes wander off a bit, and he gives a meager shrug. “Your loss, then,” he mumbles distantly.

Rick doesn’t reply. He’s too busy hoping that’s not the case to try.

-o-

Time passes slowly. Five minutes feels like five hours. 

The hallways are silent, and Rick takes that for both a good thing and a bad thing. He knows that any defense would have to be made by him, and that protecting a downed man while trying to save his own life would be exceptionally difficult, all things considered.

Still, the sound of his team coming back for him would be kind of nice.

Billy’s condition isn’t changing much, which again, Rick supposes is good and bad. With a bullet wound, bleeding out is a primary concern, and when Rick checks the bandage, it seems to be doing its job as best it can. If the blood loss progresses too quickly, Rick knows there’s nothing he can do.

So while the slow rate of bleeding is working in his favor, it doesn’t change the fact that Billy is, in fact, bleeding out. Slowly but surely, their continued isolation doesn’t change the inevitable result. Unless backup arrives--and soon--Rick’s going to be babysitting a corpse.

It’s an unsettling thought, to say the least.

“You look like shite,” Billy says, breaking Rick from his thoughts.

Rick glances at him, surprised. The other man’s eyes are only at half mast, but he’s still pinning Rick with an intent and knowing look.

Rick uses his training and endeavors to hide his surprise. He smirks a little. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“Yes, well, at least I have a reason,” Billy says. “What’s your excuse?”

“I’m just being vigilant,” Rick tells him.

Billy laughs at that, a soft, muted sound. “If vigilance makes you pale and sweaty, then I might venture you’re in the wrong line of work.”

Rick rolls his eyes. “So what explains your behavior on this mission?”

Billy raises his eyebrows. “Getting shot was certainty not intentional.”

“I mean before that,” Rick retorted shortly. When Billy gives him a purposefully blank look, Rick continues, “You barely cracked a smile this whole time.”

“Ah, Rick,” Billy says. “I’m flattered. If I’d known you counted so much on my charming personality, I would have tried harder.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it,” Rick tells him.

Billy sighs, and the humor goes out of his face. The absence of it makes Billy look older, with pain drawing the lines of his face deeply. He shakes his head. “That’s a story for another time,” he says.

“What, you worried about privacy?” Rick cajoles.

“I’m not quite ready for the deathbed confessions just yet,” Billy quips back coyly. His breath hitches and he coughs once. With a wince, he adds, “At least not yet.”

-o-

Nothing happens. Rick keeps watch with an acute intensity, aware of every shift in the environment, every possible movement in his vicinity.

But it’s quiet, and Rick can’t avoid the fact that he’s sitting in an abandoned complex, waiting for disaster or salvation, while Billy bleeds to death.

The bandage is saturated now. Blood is beginning to dampen the carpet, pooling just a little, and Billy’s face is a deathly shade that Rick has only seen on corpses.

He coughs more, and his body shudders with the effort. Breathing seems to be a full-body effort for the other operative, and he pants each strained breath through open, gray lips. 

Rick broaches the silence every now and then, but Billy’s answers grow shorter, less humorous. He’s fading. Rick can see it in the dull, glassy look in his eyes and the monotone of his voice when he ventures any kind of reply.

“So,” Rick says, louder than he needs to. His voice still seems to echo in the empty halls. “How many people do you think Casey had to manhandle in order to get everyone out of here safely?”

Billy smiles slightly. “At least a dozen,” he replies. “Anything less really wouldn’t do him justice.”

“He’d probably have to,” Rick says. “It’s not like Malcolm could really be much help. What was his specialty in MI-6 anyway?”

Billy’s eyes focus on him, and he smiles wryly. “You think we’re to that point yet?”

Rick frowns. “I was just--”

Billy nods weakly. “I know, I know,” he says. “And maybe soon.”

Rick falls silent, watching as Billy’s eyes wander, fluttering for a moment while he exhales heavily.

Maybe sooner than Rick wants to think.

-o-

When Rick’s radio crackles, he’s so surprised that he jolts. He fumbles for it, nearly dropping it before pushing the talk button.

Michael’s voice repeats itself, “Martinez, Collins, do you copy?”

“Roger that,” Rick says, and his heart skips a beat. He flashes a grin at Billy who manages a wan smile in reply. “What’s your status?”

“Hostages are secure,” Michael reports. “We’ve connected with a local army unit. We should be at the compound in fifteen minutes. Is the complex still secure?”

“No sign of movement just yet,” Rick replies.

“Good,” Michael says. Then he hesitates. “How is Billy?”

Rick swallows the lump in his throat. “Still holding on.”

Billy seems to sigh, settling back into his pack.

“Copy that,” Michael says. “See you in fifteen.”

“We’ll be here,” Rick rejoins, feeling his spirits buoy.

The crackle disappears and Rick turns a boastful smile toward Billy. “Fifteen minutes,” he repeats. “That’s pretty good, even for the ODS.”

Billy grimaces a little, but tries to turn it into a smile. “We are the best,” he agrees, his eyes drifting closed and, this time, staying that way.

Rick’s stomach flips, his joy tempered by the ever-present reality. He reaches out, puts his hand to Billy’s face. The skin is clammy. “Hey,” he says, shaking him slightly. 

Billy’s eyes open slightly, brow furrowed.

“Fifteen minutes,” Rick tells him, offers that fact like a life raft.

Billy nods. His lips are dry, and he shivers under Rick’s touch. “Fifteen minutes.”

-o-

It’s only been five minutes when Billy’s eyes close again. 

Rick shakes him again, hand to Billy cheek, but this time the response is minimal.

Coldness starts to form in his stomach and Rick doesn’t want to deal with it. He gets to his knees, leaning over Billy. His eyes scan the bandage, which is completely saturated now. The pool on the floor is growing, little by little every passing minute.

It’s almost too much, and Rick thinks he might panic. Instead, he reaches toward Billy’s shoulder and grips it, giving him another shake.

The movement jostles Billy, and a groan escapes his lips.

“Ten minutes,” Rick tells him pointedly. “You have to hold on for ten minutes.”

Billy groans again, his face creased in pain. When he opens his eyes, they’re wet. “You can be a cruel bastard, you know that?” he slurs.

Rick sits back slightly and lifts his chin. “I did learn from the best.”

Billy actually manages a laugh at that. At least, there’s a forced exhale of air that Rick takes for as much.

After a moment, Billy swallows with effort. His expression darkens, and his eyes settle seriously on Rick. “You know,” he begins. “I learned from the best.”

“Well, I’m sure working under Michael has that effect on everyone,” Rick says.

But Billy shakes his head. “I mean back at home,” he says. “Malcolm, he was one of my mentors.”

Rick is surprised.

Billy nods. “I know,” he says. “Bastard has ridiculous genes, but he’s older than he’d confess to.”

“So that’s how you knew him,” Rick concludes. “He was your boss?”

“Taught me everything I know,” Billy confirms.

“So I take it he took your deportation hard,” Rick muses.

Billy snorts a little. “He was the one who pushed for it,” he says.

Rick frowns again. “Why?”

“Because when a mission got complicated, I turned my back on orders and did my own thing,” Billy continues. He shrugs minutely. “It was his mission. They were his orders.”

“How did disobeying orders get you deported?” Rick asks.

“I may have crossed illegally onto sovereign soil and worked with a known terrorist group to accomplish my means,” he says. 

Rick doesn’t bother to hide his surprise this time. “But I thought you said it was a youthful indiscretion.”

“Aye,” Billy says. “I was young. I was naive enough to think that the ends really could justify the means. I believed the big picture was more important than the mission.” He takes a heaving breath, shaking his head. “I was wrong.”

Rick takes that in, considers it. He thinks about his own missions and the way lines get blurred when he’s in the field. He considers the orders he’s received and the times he’s questioned them and the times he’s done things his own way regardless. It’s always turned out, and Michael’s had his back. But the thing with working under the radar is that sometimes it’s impossible to know which way actions will be judged until the dust clears.

“Why did you do it? Rick prompts finally.

Billy’s expression changes. “The mission was too narrow,” he says. “People were going to die and I knew we had the power to stop them. So I did the mission--and then I just kept going.”

Rick swallows hard. “Did it work?”

Billy nods, smiling a little. “Aye,” he says. “Saved almost a dozen people.”

“And Malcolm didn’t care?”

“They weren’t a part of the mission,” Billy says. “Besides, when my cohorts in the terrorist cell were finished helping me, they promptly went on to bomb a bus. Nothing I knew about, of course, but the connection didn’t look good.”

No, it didn’t, and Rick knows all too well that perception is often more important than reality when it comes to judging the outcome of missions. It had been a harsh lesson, learned two days in when his team had calmly explain how a simple photo taken out of context could get him fired and left him forever in their debt.

Granted, his team at least had given him back the picture and traded it for trust.

But his team sees the big picture. To make these mission work, to save lives and do the right thing, to win the day and stay alive--they have to. 

Funny, in all of the craziness of the ODS, Rick has never stopped to think that he might be lucky.

Looking at Billy again, Rick swallows. “Why are you telling me this?”

Billy shrugs again, the motion even less than before. There’s a ghost of his smile on his lips. “Just seemed like the right time,” he murmurs.

And Rick can’t say anything, can’t do anything, as Billy closes his eyes once again.


	3. Chapter 3

Billy may think it’s time, but Rick’s pretty sure it’s not.

At least, he’s not willing to admit it.

Because help is five minutes out, and five minutes isn’t that long. Five minutes can’t be that long.

It’s nothing more than the blink of an eye. A microcosm of life. A snippet of a day.

Rick doesn’t think about how in five minutes, his first day just about became his last. He doesn’t think about how in five minutes he went from being a hopeful spy to a turncoat. He doesn’t think about how five minutes nearly secured his outing as a double agent.

He doesn’t think about it.

Doesn’t let himself.

Because five minutes is enough to win trust and break trust. It’s enough to share a life story and say goodbye. But it’s not enough to let someone die.

Billy can’t have survived the entire time just to die in the last five minutes.

Still, there’s nothing Rick can do. He tries shaking the other operative, but this time, there is no response. Billy’s body is limp and Rick checks the bandage, just to find it worse than before. The shallow rise and fall of Billy’s chest is somewhat reassuring, but when Rick presses his fingers into Billy’s throat, the beat there is sluggish and erratic.

Five minutes, he tells himself. Five minutes.

He just needs five more minutes and everything will be okay. And how could it not? Rick’s a spy now, everything he ever dreamed of. His team trusts him, and he trusts his team. It’s taken months to build that kind of rapport and Rick can’t imagine that he might lose it all in five measly minutes.

Desperate, Rick checks his watch and feels his stomach churn. He sits up to his knees and presses down on Billy’s wound because he feels like he needs to do something. Anything.

It’s funny. As Rick sits there, trying to keep Billy from dying, it strikes him that the uncommon resiliency and luck of this team has always impressed him and frustrated him all at once. He’s never understood how they could really be that good or that lucky.

But as he watches Billy breathing slow and feels his blood on his hands, he realizes that talent and luck only go so far. Sometimes, the best isn’t good enough, and it’s not a lesson he wants to learn, but one that he may have no choice to accept when the next five minutes are gone.

-o-

In two minutes, Billy starts trembling. His breathing grates harder now and he’s on the verge of convulsions.

In three minutes, Rick’s almost crying because someone he’s supposed to look out for is dying. Someone he cares about might not make it.

In four minutes, Rick stops crying. He thinks about the what this mission is all about. He thinks about how even if Billy dies, the plan will still be a success.

In five minutes, Michael shows up and Rick remembers that sometimes the plan isn’t everything. Sometimes there’s just a whole lot more.

-o-

When Michael talks about the cavalry, he’s really not kidding. The army sends tanks and troops, complete with automatic guns and full gear.

Really, it’s a bit overkill. But really, Rick doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about much of anything except the medics that Michael has in tow.

There’s a sudden hustle, and Rick finds himself pulled away. Billy is lowered to the ground, shirt cut open. The makeshift bandage is quickly removed, replaced by a fresh compress that the medics put in place with the utmost efficiency.

Another is starting an IV while the first moves to hook up some monitors. Once they’re turned on, Billy’s heart rate sounds unevenly in the now-busy halls, and Rick suddenly feels lightheaded.

There’s a hand on his arm, and he’s being flanked on both sides. When he looks up, Casey is right next to him, Michael on the other side, meeting his gaze. He doesn’t know where Malcolm is, and frankly, he really doesn’t care.

Rick’s attention shifts back to Billy, who is now being transferred to a backboard. Within a few short seconds, the medics are on their feet, moving out with Billy strapped down. One of them pauses next to Michael. “We’re taking him back to base,” he says. “You can hop a ride with the next transport back.”

“How’s he look?” Casey asks.

The medic’s expression flickers, just for a moment, before his obvious training kicks back in. “Placement actually doesn’t look too bad. It may have missed most of his internal organs, but with that amount of blood loss, it may not matter.”

Michael nods. “Thank you,” he says.

The medic shrugs and turns back to follow the rest of his team.

And just like that, they’re gone.

It’s not something that really computes. After watching Billy slowly bleed, it feels like he’s letting go too soon. At least before, Rick would have known if something happened.

Next to him, Casey shakes his head. “We should have seen this coming.”

Michael’s reply is almost automatic. “There’s never any way to see this coming.”

“He thought he had something to prove,” Casey says back, a little harsh. He turns to look at Michael. “You know that the minute Arlington showed up, Billy had something to prove.”

Michael wets his lips, but his expression doesn’t betray his emotions. “Billy did his job,” he says flatly, brokering no arguments. “Just like any of us would.”

Casey doesn’t disagree, but the expression on his face tells Rick that he still has his doubts. Still, Casey has no comeback, and he just shakes his head and makes his way down the hall. Rick can’t help but notice that he side steps the pool of Billy’s blood, still drying on the carpet.

For a moment, they lapse into silence.

Then, Rick says, “He didn’t stick to the plan.”

Michael looks at him. 

Rick shrugs. “He was supposed to stay with Casey.”

“We wouldn’t have made it out if he didn’t come for us,” Michael points out.

“But if he’d followed the plan...”

“Then we’d both be dead,” Michael concludes, somewhat curt. 

Rick swallows uneasily. He doesn’t wish it on Michael, but if this experience has made him certain of anything, it’s that he’d make that sacrifice for his team.

Michael sighs. “Plans are important, but there’s always more than one plan at play in a mission,” he explains, his voice gentler now.

Rick waits for more.

“Part of the plan was securing the base and getting the hostages out alive,” Michael continues. 

“And what’s the other part?” Rick prompts

Michael smiles ruefully. “Getting each other out alive.”

Rick’s chest tightens.

Michael’s hand squeezes on his arm again. “Billy did the right thing,” he says. “And so did you.”

-o-

From there, it moves kind of quickly. Rick is used to that, though. Most missions are hours of torturous waiting followed by rapid-fire action.

Only most of the time, Rick’s actually a bit more interested in it all.

And it’s not that he’s not interested really. Securing the complex is important--he knows that. But the fact that they’ve got an entire army unit to do the job for them, complete with tanks and ammo to easily fend off and capture whatever reinforcements straggle in, really makes it just that much easier to mentally check out.

If he’s honest, Rick knows that this is part of the mission and all, but he can’t get his mind off Billy. He knows the doctors at the base probably don’t need Rick’s help any more than the soldiers here do, but in terms of what seems most important, Billy’s life over a sterile terrorist compound is sort of a no brainer.

Fortunately, he’s not the only one. He follows Michael around for a few dutiful stops, and when everything seems well in hand, Michael leads them back out where they already find Casey loading up a transport.

Michael doesn’t really think twice about it as he snags the keys and slides into the driver’s seat. “Did you get permission to take this?” he asks.

Casey jumps in besides him while Rick takes position in the back. 

Casey shrugs. “More or less.”

Michael just nods. “Good enough for me.”

-o-

It impresses Rick that Michael knows where he’s going without even looking at a map. These things are instinctive to him, and Rick wonders if it’s always been that way for him or if it took years to build to this point. Either way, Rick’s just grateful when they get to the base in good time. 

The base is larger than Rick might expect, with sprawling tents set up throughout the area. The medical tents are easy to find with the red cross on top of them, and Rick supposes there’s something fortunate in the fact that this is an army facility. This way, when they walk inside, they don’t have much red tape to go through before they find someone who knows about Billy.

It’s a doctor, and she’s young. “I was part of the team that treated him when he first came in,” she reports. Her blonde hair is pulled into a ponytail and she has a slight midwestern accent. 

“So where is he now?” Casey asks.

“Dr. Brown transferred him over to surgery to remove the bullet,” she says.

This isn’t a surprise, but for some reason it still hits Rick a little like a punch to the gut.

“What’s his prognosis?” Michael says.

“The bullet doesn’t appear to have done any damage to his internal organs, which is the good news,” she says.

Rick’s heart flutters. “And the bad news?”

She shrugs, a little helpless. “His blood volume is dangerously low,” she says. “We’ve transfused him, but even so, surgery is risky for patients who experience that degree of hypovolemic shock.”

Rick finds that he doesn’t have anything to say. Rather, he has a million questions, but can’t find any way to make his voice work.

Michael doesn’t miss a beat, however. “How long will it take?”

“A few hours, maybe more,” she says. “Depends how many bleeders Dr. Brown finds.”

Casey blows out a frustrated breath and Rick does everything he can to keep from vomiting.

“I’m sorry I can’t tell you more,” she says, and she sounds genuine about that. “We have some area at the front of the tent if you’d like to wait.”

-o-

Rick doesn’t really want to wait.

He feels sort of like he’s been waiting for hours now, and the blood on his hands seems like an apt enough defense.

Still, it’s a frustratingly inevitable fact that there’s really nothing else for him to do.

Michael excuses himself to make a phone call back to Higgins. Casey begrudgingly agrees to go with him. 

“You’ll let us know if you hear anything?” Michael asks.

Rick blinks, then nods. “Of course,” he says. Besides, at this point, Rick doesn’t really know what else to do.

-o-

Rick would think that waiting in a semi-comfortable chair in a friendly facility without the immediate threat of death would actually be an improvement.

But as the minutes tick by, Rick’s not entirely convinced that it is.

It means something that Billy is getting the help he needs. But sitting there, by himself, is just as terrifying as before. He runs his hands together, watching the drying blood flake off, and wonders why it feels like everything is still slipping through his fingers.

Things don’t exactly take a turn for the better when Malcolm Arlington shows up.

Rick barely affords him a glance. The older man idles for a moment in the entryway, seeming to decide if he wants to settle down or keep on moving.

Rick knows which option he prefers, but it appears that luck has decided to work against him yet again.

With a sigh, Malcolm settles down in a chair kitty-corner from Rick. 

Rick studiously ignores him.

After a moment, Malcolm blows out a breath and seems to give in to the inevitable awkwardness. “So,” he says. “No news yet?”

Rick barely glances at him. “He’s in surgery.”

“So he is still alive then,” Malcolm verifies.

Rick can’t help but scowl. “No thanks to you.”

Malcolm looks surprised, dark eyebrows lifting toward his strong hairline. The fact that he looks more dashing with this light distress just makes Rick irrationally hate him more.

“I was the one sticking to the plan, mate,” he says. “Collins’ desire to run around and play by his own rules is his problem.”

Rick is really not impressed anymore. “He was saving our lives.”

“Spies don’t have the luxury of picking and choosing their own missions,” Malcolm tells him in a perfunctory sort of way. “It’s just too dangerous. There’s no way to track it. I can’t believe that even your messed up American government would approval such chaos.”

Given the nature of the American government, Rick actually sort of thinks that no one would be aware of such chaos until it was entirely too late. And really, if his government is concerned about an operative going rogue to do the right thing, then the government needs to rethink its priorities considering the state of the economy.

But that’s neither here nor there, and he certainly doesn’t plan to admit any weaknesses in the American system, justified or otherwise, to some pretentious Brit.

Instead, Rick lifts his head a little. “But sometimes you don’t know the real mission until you’re in it,” he says. “I’m sure even your stuffy British system would approve a little improvisation.”

“You clearly don’t know anything about the British government,” Malcolm responds.

“I know you still serve a Queen that does nothing but cost you money and take up tabloid space.”

“And you elect idiots to office and then spend four years looking for reasons to impeach them.”

Rich scowls.

Malcolm settles back, folding his arms over his chest. “You’re missing the point anyway,” he says. “You can’t operate in a world of hypotheticals. You have to take the facts and make the best decisions you can. The entire system needs to stay afloat and one loose canon on deck can sink the entire ship.”

“Or save it,” Rick shoots back without missing a beat.

Malcolm’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. His posture stiffens. “That’s a risk I’ve never been willing to take.”

Rick really wants to laugh at that. Because it’s the risk that Rick takes every day when he shows up for work. He knows his team. He trusts his team. And they trust him. And that trust is the only check and balance the ODS really need to stay afloat. It’s why they work and why, after everything, Rick doesn’t think he’d ever want to be another kind of spy, not even if Higgins gave him the chance.

The laugh feels bitter in his throat, and he shakes his head instead. “That’s a risk that I’m not sure we can afford not to take,” Rick counters.

Malcolm smiles a little. “You’re young.”

“And you had your best operative decommissioned and deported.”

Malcolm’s smile fades. “You didn’t know him then,” he says, and there’s an implicit warning in his voice.

“Maybe,” Rick accedes. “But you sure as hell don’t know him now.”

-o-

Rick falls asleep, head propped up against the wall. It’s an awkward angle, but waiting is lonely and the full impact of the mission seems to be catching up with him.

He dreams, half-imagined fantasies. For a while, he’s back at home and his mother is making him dinner. She serves it to him piping hot and starts to lecture him in Spanish.

He’s telling her no, that he doesn’t need to make his bed, that he doesn’t need to wash his whites separate from his colors, when somewhere a bomb goes off and the entire house shakes.

He’s thrown off his feet, his mother’s dinner all over the floor. He hears her crying somewhere, but doesn’t know how to get up. Doesn’t know how to do anything. She’s screaming, “Ayudame! Ayudame, por favor!” and Rick thinks this is his duty. This is his moment.

But he can’t stand. Something’s wrong. He can hardly move.

He’s flailing for a moment, when three shadows fall over him.

He stops and looks up. Michael is staring at him. Casey rolls his eyes. And Billy just smirks.

“Do you need a hand?” Michael asks.

“Of course he needs a hand,” Casey mutters. “Look at him.”

“Oh, don’t be mean,” Billy chimes in. “None of us like to admit our inherent weaknesses.”

“And none of us have to,” Michael agrees and he extends his hand.

Rick’s just about to take it when another voice pervades the dream: “You the guys here for Billy Collins?”

-o-

When Rick’s awake, he realizes that he’s no longer alone. There is, in fact, a doctor there, and somewhere between falling asleep and dreaming, Michael and Casey have returned and Malcolm has disappeared.

Blinking rapidly, Rick tries to forget the dream. Tries to forget just about everything except the doctor in front of him and the information that he invariably possesses.

“How is he?” Michael asks before Rick even has a chance to get on his feet next to them.

Rick might resent the fact that he’s been the one waiting and Michael is the one doing all the talking, except that Rick’s too tired to think and Michael really does the whole in-charge thing well.

The doctor purses his lips for a moment but doesn’t seem overly worried about pretenses. “He’s in recovery,” he reports. “It took awhile to chase down all the bleeders and we had to transfuse him more than I like, but he’s a tough guy.”

“So he’s okay?” Michael asks.

The doctor shrugs. “He’s still critical,” he says. “But he seems to be stable. After what he’s been through, it’s about the best you can hope for.”

“When can we see him?” Casey says.

“Give us five minutes and then I’ll have a nurse take you back,” he says.

And Rick sort of wants to laugh because five minutes sounds so simple, but he knows that it’s a lifetime as readily as anything.

-o-

For five minutes, they sit.

Michael and Casey seem to have no problem with it, but now that he’s awake again, Rick can’t control the nervous energy. He takes to pacing, mostly because he feels like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t.

“It’s only five minutes,” Casey reminds him.

Rick glares.

“Higgins was impressed,” Michael offers, changing the subject.

Rick looks at him, surprised.

Michael shrugs. “In case you cared,” he amends.

“Oh,” Rick says, pausing in his pacing. “So the mission was a success?”

“Higgins said as soon as we’re all good to go, he’ll have a transport waiting to take us back home,” Michael confirms.

Rick nods, a little convulsively. “That’s good.”

Casey looks exasperated. “Yes,” he says. “That’s very good.”

“Where’s Malcolm?”

Casey doesn’t try to hide his scoff.

Michael’s tone is even. “I heard him checking in with his superior,” he says. “Then I saw him get on a transport and leave.”

Rick doesn’t know why this surprises him. “He’s gone?”

Michael nods. “He’s gone.”

It’s a relief on one level. The thought of Malcolm Arlington sort of makes him want to punch something--hard--and having less to do with him is better, all things considered.

But still. The fact that he’s gone rubs Rick the wrong way. Because sure, the official mission is over. But it’s more than that. The primary objective can be finished, but until they’re all alive and accounted for on the other side, then the entire thing feels far from over.

And yet Malcolm still left. Billy could live or die, and Malcolm’s already on his way home, ready to mark another notch on his belt.

It feels like an easy out, because it is an easy out.

That’s the difference, Rick realizes. The real difference between Malcolm and the rest of them. Malcolm thinks getting the as long as he can files a clean report, then that’s good enough. The ODS operates under the belief that doing the right thing is paramount and filing something at all is good enough.

It’s a difference in process. More than that, it’s a difference in principle. And it’s a difference that matters.

Finally, Rick nods, a little numb. “We don’t need him,” he says.

Casey grunts.

Michael smiles. “I don’t think we ever did.”

-o-

In five minutes, a nurse takes them back. She warns them to be careful and to be quiet, and she reiterates that Billy’s condition is still a little precarious.

As if they need the reminder.

Because it just takes one look at Billy to see that it’s still a fragile thing. He looks small on the cot somehow, almost crowded out by an array of bandages and equipment. But the heart monitor is beeping, a steady, reassuring beat, and even if Rick’s afraid to move, he finds comfort in that.

None of them say anything. None of them have to.

There’s a quiet determination in Casey’s eyes, and Rick can see traces of regret. Regret that he let Billy go off alone. Regret that he wasn’t there to back him up, even when he knows he couldn’t have been.

Michael is stoic, face drawn and impassive. But Rick understands it. He understands that Michael’s calculating everything. He’s going over what happened and planning what will come next. He’s thinking about how this went wrong and trying to recreate how it still somehow went right.

Rick doesn’t have nearly that much to think about. For now, he just wants to know Billy’s alive and that the team is together. After that, he trusts that things will fall into place the way they should.

-o-

As far as the paperwork’s concerned, that really is the end of the story. Billy recovers in the military hospital, faster than the doctor predicts, but with a flair that doesn’t surprise any of them.

The days that follow are sort of easy. Life on base is as comfortable as Rick might expect, and honestly, the friendly camaraderie from sharing a tent with his teammates makes it go pretty fast.

After three days, Billy’s sitting up and he’s staring to joke again, and it feels like things are getting back to normal.

But sometimes, Rick can still feel the blood on his hands. Can still hear Billy’s grating breath and that last confession.

Of course, Billy doesn’t seem to remember it. Or, if he does, he doesn’t seem overly inclined to talk about it. Which, makes sense. Billy’s easy with casual conversation, but of all of them, he’s been the least likely to open about personal things. It’s entirely possible that Billy would rather pretend that none of it happened.

And Rick should respect that. He wants to.

But...

It’s hard. It’s not that Rick isn’t good at keeping secrets, it’s that he knows this secret and he doesn’t even know if Billy remembers that he told it.

Ultimately, Rick cracks.

He’s sitting with Billy, joking about the state of the food on base, when he randomly segues: “So are you okay with the fact that Malcolm left?”

Billy raises his eyebrows and Rick finds himself blushing. Somehow, the transition from mystery casserole to Malcolm’s uncomfortable presence and departure seemed much more natural.

“I just meant,” Rick tries to clarify. “I mean--”

Billy smiles, shaking his head. “I was wondering how long it would take you before you broke down to talk about it.”

Rick’s a little embarrassed that he’s so easy to predict, but at this point, his curiosity is driving him so crazy that he can’t bring himself to care too much. “I just didn’t know if you wanted to talk about it,” he offers lamely.

“Considering I’m not the one who brought it up,” Billy ventures.

“What you said, though,” Rick continues on. “I mean, that’s a lot.”

Billy sighs, seeming to deflate a little. “It’s not something I talk about a lot,” he admits.

“But you did talk about it,” Rick insists.

“If I recall, I was dying at the time.”

“I’m just sorry about it,” Rick says. “I mean, how Malcolm treated you. You saved his life and he didn’t even stick around.”

“I’m the former employee who defied orders and committed an act of borderline treason,” Billy reminds him. “Malcolm has his reasons.”

“Malcolm was wrong,” Rick says, with a fresh confidence.

Billy is a little amused by the assertion. “I certainly thought so,” he says. Then he shakes his head. “I should have known better, though.”

“Did you regret it?” Rick asks.

Billy stops at the question, pausing as if to consider it for the first time in awhile. His smile turns wistful. “No,” he says. “People were going to die. They may not have been British citizens, but I had the means to save them. They got to go on and have lives. That was worth it.”

Rick’s heart aches, just a little. “But you lost your life.” Literally and figuratively, because just as readily as Billy almost bled out back there, Rick knows that Billy can never go back to his home country. No matter how much Billy doesn’t talk about it, Rick can only imagine never going back to his mother’s for Sunday dinner or never seeing all his siblings around the tree at Christmas.

Blood loss isn’t the only way to die. Doctors can sew veins together and stitch skin, but Rick wonders if there’s ever any way to really heal the heart.

“Eh,” Billy says, shrugging, but his eyes dart away. After a moment, he looks up, almost a little shy. “But I seem to have found another one.”

It’s an answer Rick doesn’t expect, and the warmth of it makes Rick smile. It relieves him--for his sake and for Billy’s--because it means there’s a hope for second chances.

And third chances and fourth chances. And as many chances as they can muster.

“So,” Rick says, shifting in the chair. “I know how you got deported, but that still doesn’t quite explain how you got picked up by the CIA.”

Billy feigns hurt. “You mean you doubt that the reputation that preceded me was enough?”

Rick refuses to be easily convinced. “You were deported,” he says. “That hardly makes you a valuable asset.”

Billy seems to accept that. “True,” he says. “But one country’s traitor is often another country’s hero.”

“But I thought you said the terrorist cell you worked with went on to commit crimes?” Rick asks.

“Yes, they did,” Billy says. “But the people I saved--”

“They were Americans,” Rick realizes.

“A nice variety of ex-pats and overseas businessmen,” Billy confirms. “All in all, the CIA was quite grateful that I did the job that none of their agents could get permission for.”

After all of it, Rick has to laugh. Billy’s the villain and the hero all at once, depending on which version of the story he picks.

Of course, Rick’s a smart guy and that one is really a no brainer. Billy, just like Casey and Michael, are heroes, every time. Hands down.

“Well, I guess I have to say I’m glad you did it,” he tells Billy

Billy looks genuinely pleased. “Why, thank you, Rick,” he returns. “That means quite a lot.”

Rick nods, then bristles. “But the next time you get shot, all bets are off,” he warns.

Billy gives him a fake salute. “Completely understood.”

And Rick breaks out into a grin.

-o-

Michael is smiling. “The good news is,” he begins, “that we get to go home today.”

“Thank God,” Casey says. “I’m starting to taste sand when I’m sleeping. I think it may have permanently impaired my taste buds.”

Billy grins. “I have to admit, I won’t really be sorry to bid this place farewell,” he says. Then he leans forward a bit. “But I may miss the nurses just a bit. Medical prowess and uniforms.” His eyes glow salaciously. “It feels a bit like heaven.”

Rick rolls his eyes.

Michael just crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, we still have a few hours,” he says. “You can make the most of it.”

Billy’s face lights up. 

Rick shakes his head. “So what’s the bad news?”

“Billy’s recovery has been so spectacular that he’s been cleared for a commercial flight,” Michael reports.

Casey groans. 

Rick feels himself starting to despair. “Tell me they at least got business class this time,” he says, almost begging.

Michael shrugs. “Our government is in a spending crisis.”

Rick groans.

Billy just grins. “Come on, lad,” he cajoles. “Considering the mission we’ve had, it can only get better, right?”

There’s a logic to that, which is probably why Rick doesn’t trust it at all.

_end_


End file.
